


Torn

by mj4x



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Assassin's Creed: Rogue, F/M, Friends to Lovers, History based, Mild Blood, Mild Language, Romance, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 14:14:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9328418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mj4x/pseuds/mj4x
Summary: Raised as an assassin, surrounded by the portuguese court, you grew up in Lisbon and know every inch of this city like it is your own body. When asked to help an 'old friend' retrieve an artifact in your hometown, you cannot refuse, but when the situation goes south, you find yourself torn between two sides of the same coin.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Translations**
> 
>  
> 
>  _Crianças, por favor!_ \- Children, please!  
>  _senhor_ \- sir  
>  _Finalmente_ \- Finally  
>  _querida_ \- dear

_Lisbon_

_September, 1749  
_  

You run through the long hallway, turning the corner that leads into the kitchen. The greasy, wet tile floor causes your boots to slip. Your knee scrapes the floors as you quickly get up, leaving a dark stain on your brown breeches.

“Come here!” José laughs as he reaches over the kitchen counter, almost throwing himself over it. You hide behind Cláudia, giggles escaping your mouth as you grip her voluminous skirt.

“ _Crianças, por favor!_ Take it outside, will you?” Cláudia waves her flour coated hands around, forcing you to release her. A smile appears across her aged features as she sinks her hands back into the dough. It was impossible for her to be angry at the joy of two children, especially at yours. After all, she had been the one taking you in, 10 years ago on a cold December night. It wasn’t snowing, but it might as well have been. Feeling the cold digging and twisting between one’s bones was unbearable, even more for a scrawny, nearly naked and barely fed 7 year old girl like you were. Cláudia, the maid, caught you in the kitchen, holed up by the fire, the window you got in from still open. But instead of waking up surrounded by guards, you woke up surrounded by warmth. Warmth from the blanket she pulled over you.

Your feet whirl around in a quiet dance, as José eyeballs you from across the counter while pacing from one side to the other, his chest oscillating quickly due to his heavy breathing. You are panting a bit yourself… Perhaps now is the time where all that resistance training will be proven useful? Your eyes remain on José as you plan your escape route, hopefully he won’t detect your slightly distracted look.

Where can you go? He stands between you and the door, so that is not an option. The pillar to your right… You could use that as an advantage, no? Distract him somehow and loop around it? No. That would never work. Cláudia; maybe she could…  
In a matter of seconds, a thousand worthless ideas run through your head. Until you notice the sunlight hitting the back of Cláudia’s white dress. The window directly behind you is open and ready for you to jump off. It’s not that big of a fall now is it? 2 meters. Perhaps 3? 4? You don’t know, but it is too late now anyways.

You turn around and leap over the window, landing sturdily on the cobblestone pavement below. A sting-like sensation crawls up your legs, but your pride is too high to let you give up now, so you distance yourself from the wall, hearing Cláudia’s muffled rant. José sticks his head through, wide eyes, such a shocked facial expression that causes you to burst out laughing. The few people on the street continue their doings, although their disturbed looks are not discreet, most of them accentuating once they notice what, and _whose_ building you just came flying from.

“What are you waiting for?!” You shout towards the window, starting to run down the narrow street.  


* * *

  
The dark alleyways are swept by your passing form. You leave the shadows, finding yourself in the small square ahead of Saint Dominic’s church. Your rhythm slows into a _normal_ pace and your gaze adverts to the ground. You walk by the front of the church, heart pounding inside your chest. Father Gabriel’s eyes are on you. You can feel them piercing through your skull.

“Girl.” He motions you to come closer.

“Yes, Father?” Your hands sweep behind your ears the strands of hair falling from your bun, in an attempt to tidy up.

“Where are your siblings?” His eyes scan you up and down, noticing your attire. A shirt, laces undone, causing it to gape slightly; dark colored breeches cover your legs till just under the knee, leather boots then taking over. Clothing rather not appropriate for the _lady_ you are supposed to be. 

“I believe they are headed towards the harbor, _senhor_ , as I am.”

“Oh.” His eyes look away from yours. The previously severe look in them turns apologetic, “Send my regards to the marchioness, and the marquis of course.” He nods, a hand pats your shoulder, “Go on, child.”

As the church door closes, José emerges from one of the alleys behind you, “Y/N!” A grin takes over your mouth as you glance at him. You skip in place before rushing towards the market.

You descend through Lisbon’s hills, the mountains across the river in the distance, take over most of the view between the buildings. The sun burns your face, but the wind soothes it. Sweat runs down your back, the strands of hair falling down your neck cling onto your skin.

As you approach the main avenue, your sight is flooded with an endless spectrum of colors and shapes. The air is filled with voices and high-pitched laughs. The modest merchants loop around their stalls, interacting with the passing court. The women walk in their pastel colored gowns, the men in their dark suits, most of them wearing white wigs over their heads. You cringe just by watching them dressed like that. You _hate_ when you are forced to wear those gowns. The corset deprives you from breathing properly, the huge heavy skirts make it nearly impossible to move ordinarily, not to mention the fact that the fabrics are thick and layered, causing an extreme discomfort amongst warmer temperatures. As you scoot in-between these people, you are pretty certain most of them feel the exact same way, judging by their soaked collars, and mostly by the disgusting smell of sweat surrounding them, combined with the flowery scents they use trying to mask it. You cover your nose with your arm, inhaling the lavender scent of the shirt you’re wearing. You keep it that way until you leave the crowded street, stumbling into the Commerce Square.

Guards ride by you mounted in horses while others are on foot, merchants carry their goods through the dirt. Children run around as gaudy carriages pass by _._ You take a deep breath, taking in the smell of the sea mixed with the sweet exotic spices. _Finalmente_ , you think to yourself when you see the Tagus river a few meters away. There are a couple schooners just off the coast sailing into the ocean, a few rowboats are scattered throughout the water, but what catches your attention is the big frigate anchored on the port. Several men walk along the planks, carrying crates and barrels, while others hurry on board making the final adjustments before sailing. That must be the one.

You notice the big group of noblemen and women near it, umbrellas sheltering them from the sun. As you approach the group, their heads tilt your way; some women gasp, some men frown, others snort in amusement, all the reactions you were expecting coming from the court when glancing at you in your current state. Luís is one the men who laughs, “There you are!” He throws an arm around you, pushing you close to his side. The wind causes his wavy dark auburn hair gathered in a low ponytail to wiggle slightly. A mouthful smile crosses his shaved features as he looks at you.

Luís is the oldest of all the siblings, the one who trains you and the one who taught you everything you know about the Creed. He is an assassin and your mentor, as much as you hate to put it that way. He wiped your tears away when you scraped your knees, and stood up by you and José when you two got into trouble. Above all of it, he is your brother, even if not by blood.

“I was worried you would not be able to say your farewells. We all have already.” Luís gestures around you, the court members whispering between each other a couple meters away from yourselves. The king’s family is there as well, although they don’t seem to pay much attention to either of you.

Before you can reply, José arrives and punches your shoulder lightly, “I caught you!” he says out of breath.

Your eyebrows rise as you scoff, “You wish! _I_ let you catch me.”

Luís’ eyes glance between both of you before gesturing to his brother, “Go on.” As José walks towards his parents, the soft sound of whimpers and sobs fills your ears. When you glimpse to your right you find Mariana clutching onto her handkerchief, wiping away her tears. Leonor and her husband are by her side, Leonor stroking her little sister’s hair, murmuring soothing words to her.

A shadow is cast over you and Luís’ grip gets tighter. The Marquis of Pombal stands in front of you, “And what happened to this young lady?” The disdain in his voice is perfectly audible. It takes every single one of your nerves to not roll your eyes at the man.

The Marquis of Pombal is a man you are not very fond of, or rather, no one seems to be. He is an arrogant, austere aristocrat, and to make it all worse, a _templar._ He is talked about at the dinner table, at the meetings you overhear and generally everywhere the court might be at. He does not appear to be bothered that one of his _fellow_ peers, the Távora family, _your_ family, is connected to the Assassins, and you’re not sure whether to take it as a good or a bad sign. A red strand of velvet hangs a templar cross on his chest, over his black clothing. His severe features are surrounded by a grey wig, its ends resting on his shoulders. He is staring you down, clearly disturbed by the look of you.

“We were training before. She even managed to knock me off my feet a couple of times, did you not?” Luís pats your shoulder, his smile certainly fake, however genuinely taunting the marquis. He is lying, yes, but the annoyed look on the marquis’ face is worth it. Before he can counter, Luís moves you to his front, both hands on your shoulders, guiding you past the marquis, towards his parents. “Y/N, you are the only one left. Go say your goodbyes to mother and father.” He lets go of you, slightly pushing you forwards.

 _“Mother and father”_ , the words linger in your head. The marquis and the marchioness of Távora are not your parents, at least in the traditional sense of the word. They took you in after Cláudia found you. The marchioness was radiant with the thought of having a daughter once again, as she had just lost one. In matter of fact, they had lost more than a couple of children, either before or after birth. Due to that or not, the whole family raised you as one of their own and gave you everything you ever needed to this day and forward. Leonor and Luís always treated you as a little sister, you bonded instantaneously with José, him being the same age as you, and when Mariana was born, you were the first one to hold her chubby fragile form. You owe these people everything, however you don’t have the courage to call them _mother_ and _father_. Always sir, madam, marchioness, marquis, but never _mother_ or _father_. You never felt up to their level, you never felt like a noblewoman, and you certainly did not consider yourself one. Perhaps _that_ is the reason. You are definitely not of noble origins, therefore considering yourself not good enough to call them that. Even if you were of noble origins, you couldn’t possibly know it at this point in your life. Your childhood is long gone and your memory of anything before the Távoras with it.

The marchioness opens her arms as you walk into her sight “Y/N, _querida_!” She hugs you quickly before cupping your cheeks between her hands, “Oh, I’m going to miss you so much…”

You nod, smiling. Your eyes start to water, a knot forming in your throat, “Father Gabriel sends his regards to you and the marquis. I also wish you a safe journey to India.”

The marchioness must have noticed your watery eyes, as she pulls your face up so you’re facing her, one hand tucking behind your ear the strands of hair in front of your face, “We will return soon, dear, do not worry. Listen to your brother, yes? He will take over until Francisco and I return.” She plants a kiss on your forehead, then turning your body to face the marquis, who is speaking with the king.

The king pats the marquis’ arm, as they shake hands, “I have no doubt you will do a fine work as the Vice-King, Francisco. I expect you and Leonor to have a pleasant journey to India, I made sure the captain was the best of the fleet.” The marquis bows his head lightly, “Thank you, your honor. I will not disappoint.”

As the king walks back to his family, the marquis turns to you placing both hands on your shoulders, his eyes fixated on yours, a deep tenderness in them like you have never seen before in this man, “Luís informed me your skills have improved. I trust you will be a great assassin by the time we return, Y/N.” You nod, words always lacking when it comes to goodbyes. The captain shouts and all the men start to board the ship. Your heart begins to race as you see the moment of their departure coming closer, “Leonor and I love all of you very much. We will be back before you notice, dear. Try not to be too much of a problem to your brother, understood?”

A tear runs down your cheek but you quickly wipe it away with the sleeve of your shirt, “Yes, sir. I hope you both have a safe journey.”

The marquis and the marchioness board the ship as Luís places an arm around you once again.

The ship begins to sail away towards the ocean, Leonor and Francisco standing in the deck, waving at your siblings and half the court in land.

Luís squeezes your shoulder slightly as you rest your head against his arm, “Do not worry, little sister. They will return.”  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello you guyss  
> So I decided to venture myself into AC this time lmao  
> I studied this time period and the earthquake’s consequences in specific a few months ago, so I got all excited and wrote this 2000+ words chapter in one night. I am Portuguese, yes, born and raised, hi, and the Lisbon sequence in Rogue broke my heart, so I have a slight need for revenge ever since I played the game. It’s heavily based on historical facts and people (yes, everyone in this chapter actually lived and breathed, except for Cláudia and the Reader), so expect a lot of, well, plot. This chapter is just a little introduction to the Reader, where she lives, who she interacts with, and a certain someone who will later have a huge impact on the story, so I am VERY sorry for the absence of Shay. He will be here the next chapter though, so don’t worry!  
> I hope it’s not too long, I just had this really specific image on my head of the setting and the narrative, so I might have went overboard describing it.  
> Hope you guys like it!
> 
> PS: If you have any curiosity to whom these people were, just tell me. I’ll do my best to explain, or/and link you some websites who might enlighten you on the subject.  
> ALSO  
> Távora  
> Pronounced: Tah-vo-ra  
> for any of you wondering


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Translations**
> 
>  
> 
>  _Merda!_ \- Shit!  
>  _seu burro!_ \- you dumbass!  
>  _Menina_ \- Miss/Lady  
>  _Marianinha_ \- little Mariana  
>  _Querida_ \- dear
> 
> (Shay only in the next chapter, end notes for more info)

_Lisbon_

_December, 1751  
_

 

You lie under a sky of a perfect indigo velvet, stars so brilliant they capture your gaze in an inevitable trance. The wind is freezing and it hits your cheeks like blades. Gladly, the proper assassin outfit Luís got you keeps most of the cold away from your body. The tiles under you are warm, so you must be right under the convent’s kitchen.

 _Saint Francis Convent_ , or rather, its rooftop, is where you come to on your usual escapades. The moonlight washing over the city is one of your favorite sights and every now and then you feel the need to admire it.

José is sitting by your side, legs dangling off the edge of the roof. You’ve been in silence for the last few minutes, both much more tired than you’d like to admit.

He cuts the silence, keeping his eyes on the starry sky, “I overheard Luís speaking with the Duke the other day… about the British Colonies in America.”

His sudden disclosure startles you, “Putting your eavesdropping skills to good use, I see.” You smile at him, but he keeps looking up. The shine in his eyes is the only thing you can perceive, the rest of his sleek profile being concealed by the night. You posture up and cross your legs, leaning back on your palms, “Is there something wrong?”

As José opens his mouth, the first sound of a ringing bell interrupts him. You both glimpse at each other, turning your gaze to the city once again, waiting for the noise to stop. There are so many churches in this place you can’t even begin to be sure which one is it coming from.

 _Three, four…_ you count in your head … _seven, eight._

The last ring echoes through the air. It’s eight o’clock then _._

_Shit, it’s eight o’clock!_

“ _Merda,_ we’re late!” You quickly get up, brushing off your clothes. José is still sitting down, feet waving in the air, like you just said nothing. He wears only a confused look on his face as you grab his arm, trying to yank him off his seat, “What are you doing?! Get up, José!” Clearly unaware of the situation, he chuckles at your failed attempt of lifting his toned body. You frown at his childish giggles, pointing your finger as you back away “Wow. I’m leaving without you, friend.”

The sound of your feet on the tile roofs fills the air. How could you have forgotten about the feast at the Ribeira Palace? How could you have forgotten about the _fucking_ feast? Oh, you can almost hear Luís’ lecture already, _How can you be late for something like this? The king is present for Christ’s sake!_ You are not looking forward to it, neither the lecture, or the feast. All those snobby noblemen and women walking around in their fancy clothing, spouting meaningless blather at you in those high pitched voices. The king had died relatively recently, yet his son’s or, the new king’s priorities recently seem to be feasts and garden parties to please the court.  Just the thought of it makes you regret leaving that roof.

You scamper through the top of the buildings, jumping at every gap. The lanterns spread across the streets give you some visibility, but not enough. One of the tiles where your foot lands breaks but before you can react in any way, José grabs your hand and pulls you back next to him. You curse under your breath as you start to descend the building, grabbing onto ledges, window frames, railings, until you are safely on the floor. 

“Y/N, what are we late for, again?” A grin is splattered across his face. He follows closely behind as you hurry through the narrow streets.

You scoff, voice coming out a bit too harsh, “The feast, _seu burro_! At the king’s Palace!”

He doesn’t seem to care about your attitude, running past you as he covers his short and wavy dark brown hair with his hood, “We better hurry then.”

* * *

  
You reach the Távora house and open its door. José walks right past you and up the stairs two at the time, while Cláudia stands in the hall, holding a basket full of folded laundry, “ _Menina_ Y/N! Should you not be dressed already?”

“Yes! We—I—Uhh…” How would you explain to the woman that you and José had spent the last 3 hours on the roof of Saint Francis Convent, eating pastries and admiring the skies? After you both had killed your targets in Alfama, of course. It was quite simple actually, but not for Cláudia. You give up on any explanations you were trying to come up with and head to the stairs, shouting over your shoulder, “José needs your help more than I do!”

You enter the bedroom you share with Mariana and close the door. You clumsily take off your boots, the weapons attached to your body, your jacket, the rest of your attire following, as well as your hidden blades, as much as you hate to feel your wrists without their weight. You open the closet and run your fingers along the gowns inside. The colors are nice, that you’ll admit, but you can almost feel the air escaping your lungs when you glance at the corsets.

Mariana sits at the dressing table, brushing her long and wavy auburn hair. You look at her through the mirror’s reflection, “ _Marianinha_ , come here.” The girl carefully lays her silver brush in the table, hurrying towards you, nearly skipping. “Pick one for me to wear tonight.”

You can see the shimmer in her eyes as she glances between you and the gowns, carefully selecting one colored pastel peach, “This one. I think it will go well with your hair!” You chuckle at the girl’s enthusiasm.

“I need your help with this, little sister.” You lower the corset to your chest and wait for Mariana to grab the loose strings before sustaining your breath. The corset tightens around you, you can feel it, but nothing compares to how tight Cláudia manages to get it. A big part of you hopes Mariana just ties it like it is so you can at least breathe properly this one time, but before the thought even eases your mind, the door flutters open and Cláudia comes storming in, Luís right behind her. She takes the strings from Mariana’s hands and tightens them, causing you to grunt. “You are late. Again.” Luís stands in front of you, his facial expression serious, but not as serious as you were expecting. Cláudia slides items of clothing over you, items you can’t even keep track of anymore, then pushing you to the small seat in front of the dressing table. She unties your hair and softly runs a brush over it. There are knots all over it, causing you to wince every time she attempts to brush them off. You keep eye contact with Luís through the mirror, regaining your breathing, “Yes, we were busy.” Luís squints his eyes at you briefly, crossing his arms, “I take the targets were… dealt with, then.” After you nod, his tense muscles relax a little, grabbing Mariana’s hand and heading towards the door, “The carriage is waiting for you outside.”

* * *

  
Now it it’s even colder than before. Your breathing is visible in the air as you walk up to the carriage. The steward gets up with the intention of opening the door for you, but honestly, you couldn’t care less about those exaggerated etiquette rules, so you signal him with your hand and step inside by yourself. You have seen everyone that’s inside the carriage within the past 15 minutes, José, Mariana and Luís, so you save any greetings. Except for Teresa, who is sitting across from you, at Luís’ side. “Good evening.” You nod and smile brightly at the woman, only for her to return a small and certainly fake smile. 

You don’t dislike Teresa, but you don’t particularly like her either. She never gave you the reasons to, besides being Luís’ wife. It had been an arranged wedding of course, but over the past couple years you know he’s grown to care for her. She’s about his age, average weight, average height, average features… just average in general; quite shy, short on words and _very_ obeying in a strange way. Teresa was clearly raised in a very strict way and you’ve noticed the glances she gives you when you enter the house after an assignment: dirty clothes and tangled hair, in a way she could never picture herself in.

The sound of the horseshoes on the concrete pavement is muffled by Mariana’s excited voice as she tells you all about her day through the whole ride. You don’t mind though, enjoying the joy overflow her tone, meanwhile heading for the Palace.

* * *

  
The small quartet plays a soft melody that echoes through the several rooms, gradually blending with the thousand voices floating in the air. It did not matter how much you tried, you always ended up alone in these situations. Luís and Teresa had both parted towards the main hall and José had spotted a friend somewhere in a small crowd, leaving you with Mariana at your side. You put a hand behind her back and start moving between the ladies and gentlemen dispersed throughout the rooms. Leonor is supposed to be here, all you have to do is find her. Mariana’s boredom is growing, you can feel it by the way she moves, backing onto your palm slightly. The child should probably be in bed by now. You enter an eccentric room, and spot your older sister and her husband chattering with… with…

You squint your eyes, trying to make up who that is, only to find the Marquis of Pombal returning you the look, a certain grimace in his eyes that makes you uneasy. Obviously, you stop yourself from going any further, looking away and exchanging some words with Mariana in hopes he’ll leave at once. The man certainly noticed, excusing himself from the conversation and heading out of the room. You hurry towards your sister and she greets you with a warm smile.

You both converse for a few minutes before she tells you, “ _Querida,_ I have heard about America.” She grabs your hand and holds it, “It is a shame. Yet, if Luís believes it is for the best, we should all trust him.”

You slowly pull away from her grip, shaking your head, confused, “What do you speak of, Leonor?”

She must have said something she was not supposed to, by the way she unlocks her gaze from yours to the floor. She mumbles, “He hasn’t told you, has he?”

“What has he not told me?” Your tone is somewhat crude. You’re starting to become slightly infuriated. First José, now Leonor. What is it so important about that place that no one’s telling you about?

Leonor is panicking quietly, you can see it in her eyes, “No, no… He will tell you. I have just seen Teresa heading that way. Please do speak with him before jumping into any conclusions.”

You do as she says and leave. Teresa turns a corner in the distance, following Luís closely. You follow the path they were taking, through rooms and corridors until you lose the sight of the couple. You ended up in a heavily secluded area, away from the feast and the noise, on a hall, the bedrooms surrounding it. The door to one of them is barely an inch open, but it is pretty clear what’s happening on the other side. Clothing being pulled over, some removed. Grunts and moans of pleasure release from their mouths. You roll your eyes, backing away.

_Did they really have to do it here? Could they not wait until-_

Your eye catches one last detail. A crown is set on a table, next to a white wig. You take a closer look at him, completely focused on the man’s features, disregarding anything else. Sleek but aged face, no scars, strawberry blonde hair-

That’s not Luís. That is definitely not Luís.

That’s the fucking _King_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW I SAID SHAY WOULD BE IN THIS ONE IM SORRY HE WILL BE IN THE NEXT ONE I PROMISE I PROMISE  
> I could have attached both chapters but I thought it would become way too long!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Translations**
> 
>  
> 
>  _Senhora_ \- Miss/Madam  
> 

_(...)_

_Your eye catches one last detail. A crown is set on a table, next to a white wig. You take a closer look at him, completely focused on the man’s features, disregarding anything else. Sleek but aged face, no scars, strawberry blonde hair-_

_That’s not Luís. That is definitely not Luís._

_That’s the fucking king._

 

Your mouth widens open, but you quickly cover it with your hand. Silently, you move your back to the wall next to the door. Your eyes close as you swallow the dry knot in your throat.

You knew the king would have mistresses, lovers, all kings do. You just didn’t expect your sister-in-law to be one of them. But it’s the king for Christ’s sake, there’s nothing you can do about him. Teresa on the other hand... Should you tell Luís? He obviously cares for her, making this all much worse. _Never interfere in the matters of a husband and a wife! No matter the situation!_ Cláudia echoes in your head. Although, you’re not sure you can. You will _never_ be able to look at them the same way, the image of them fornicating always present instead of their faces.

Nausea bursts from within you, mixed with worry and even guilt. You cross the hall towards the feast, the air dissipating between your lungs as you hurry through the rooms. The door to the balcony is open, so you head that way and leave the building sheltering you from the cold behind.

You’re hot, burning, sweat dripping down your back. You support yourself on the cold stone barrier, taking deep breaths, gazing forward as you feel the freezing wind in your chest. The river stretches along your sight, Almada and its thick forests on the other side.

“I have been looking for you.” You turn around and see Luís heading your way. Your heart clenches. You return a fake grin, trying your best to disguise what’s truly in your head, although you are pretty sure he has noticed something’s wrong. You both stand in silence for minutes, Luís admiring the view, you thinking of _what,_ or _if_ you are going to disclose what you just witnessed.

“Do you remember Achilles? The assassin who accompanied me here a few months back.” This matter is sudden and it causes you to frown. Why bring this up now?

“I do.” You nod.

“Well… I have sent word and he is to aid you in your training.” He looks you in the eyes, a gentle smile on his lips. His tone isn’t happy, nor sad. There’s instead a hint of hope and even excitement in it and you’re eager to find out why.

“What do you mean? His base is in America, is it not?” _Oh_. The words have already left your mouth when you come to the realization. This is what the past mentions of the British Colonies had been all about.

“Yes, it is.” Luís is quiet after that, as if you are meant to understand this, to take it lightly. You clench your jaw but your eyes water anyway. The anger previously directed towards Teresa is now pointing at Luís.

“Do I not have a say in the matter?” Your voice rises involuntarily, “Am I just supposed to leave with no further explanation?!” Luís reaches for your arm but you back away, fists shaking, your nails digging into your palm. There’s a fire burning inside you, your eyes shoot resentment towards your brother.

“Y/N…” His voice is slow and steady, clearly trying to calm you down. He tries to get close to you, to comfort you in any way, however you keep stepping back, not letting him.

“No! Stop.” You yell, almost pleadingly. Your gaze is lowered, hands rubbing the skin under your eyes.

  _I am not going to cry_.

“The new king is not… _keen_ on ruling, you know this. He needs the court’s assistance. I will be extremely busy the next few months and will not be able to give you a proper training.” Your brother keeps his gaze upon you, trying to meet your eyes but you keep them on the stone floor in front of your feet.

“I can take care of myself.” You say, your voice nearly inaudible.

“Exactly.” You hate that you just proved his point even more without meaning to. “You always said you would love to visit America. I apologize, I thought the news would be welcome.” _Yes, visit. Not be forced there for months._

Luís stares at the landscape, silence setting between the both of you. You hope he tells you that you do not need to go, that you’ll both find a way to schedule the trainings, that you’ll visit America one day with the whole family, not by yourself.

He doesn’t.

“I have contacted an assassin who is willing to train José when I am not present, and Mariana has Cláudia. I am not able to have the three of you with me at all times anymore. Please, you have to understand.” You do. You do understand, and that’s what annoys you the most about all of this. Unbelievably, the king’s incompetence is taking your brother and your family away from you.

You nod, trying to show some sort of compassion through your eyes, although you’re not sure you’re succeeding. Luís relaxes slightly, smiling at you while he places a hand on your shoulder, “Besides all of this, Teresa is with child, which takes to a certain type of care. I am sure you understand.”

_Oh god._

You place a hand over your mouth, turning away from him. You’ve never felt so much hatred and disgust for someone, and for a moment you question if you have that right. However, that doubt fades from your mind quickly when you remember that it isn’t just the king’s incompetence taking your family away, it’s Teresa’s shameless lust too.

“How?!” You turn to him, gesturing aggressively. “She’s… she is-”

Luís interrupts you, his arms crossed, facial expression somehow curious and annoyed at the same time, a deep frown upon it, “She is what?”

_Fucking the king!_

God knows how many more lovers his wife might have besides the king. The image of the scene you saw earlier flashes in your head. You want to tell him, the words are at the tip of your tongue, but you quickly realize it would be more to your hidden satisfaction than anyone else’s. It would break your brother’s heart and you have no idea how he would cope with it.

Luís still stands in front of you, waiting an answer. You exhale sharply. It feels like every strength in your body has been drawn away. Your eyes are burning from the held back tears and your throat aches. The muscles in your legs hurt from the running you did before, as well as your arms and hands, slightly scraped from climbing on the rough edges of the buildings. You’re exhausted, and this is definitely becoming too much to handle.

“When am I to leave?” you mumble to your brother, that looks at you slightly surprised.

“I believe you should stay for Mariana’s birthday. The ship will set sail shortly after.” Luís heads towards the inside, speaking over his shoulder, “In about five weeks, then.”

_Five weeks._

You are left alone in the cold of the night. The candle flames flicker as the wind flows through the air. The fuss from the inside is brought to your ears once again; people seem to be dancing now, you hear their feet echoing on the floor. You run a hand on top of your face and take a deep breath as you follow your brother inside.

Perhaps a few months away isn’t such a bad idea.

 

* * *

 

_Rockport, Massachusetts_

_March, 1752_

 

The deep blue hue of the Atlantic Ocean reflects in your eyes as you sit on the wooden crates on deck. The waves clashing against the hull of the ship send small flying drops of the freezing water to your rosy cheeks. The wind blows pure up your nose, and causes your long ponytail to wiggle in the air.

In the distance you see Rockport; a vessel is docked in the town’s small bay. Its dense forests are green and extend all over the mountains in the landscape. In a peak you spot the Homestead, base for the Colonial Brotherhood.

A hand pats your shoulder, “ _Senhora_ , we’ll be reaching your destination shortly.” You nod at the man and get up your seat. You head towards the cabin, and begin to arrange the few items you brought inside your satchel. “ _your destination.”,_ you’re curious as to where these men will go next. Surely they won’t just drop you off and return to Lisbon, after nearly two months of being at sea. They’re probably merchants and will head for New York or Boston as soon as you exit the ship. You scoff; these men must have been a convenient asset for Luís when it was time for you to leave. Although you cannot complain, they treated you kindly and respectfully through the course of the voyage, while you were expecting the exact opposite.

When you exit the cabin you realize the ship has docked. You step along the planks, waving a goodbye to the sailors over your shoulder. As you walk towards the Homestead, it seems as if life has started to burst from within the forest: you hear voices, the sheathing and unsheathing of blades, several assassins pass by you, while others train with the hay dummies scattered through the terrain. Some of them notice your foreign attire, but don’t engage in any sort of dialogue as soon as they spot the Creed’s insignia in your clothing. You sight a small bonfire with a few people around it, a woman and three men. One of the men has darker skin and wears a type of outfit you have never seen before. His piercing black hair is braided and has feathers adorning it, the leather clothes are patterned and his rough face has a red streak across it. This man must be a Native American.

A smile emerges in your face involuntarily and you slow your pace to gaze at the man, completely fascinated by his uniqueness. None of them seem to have noticed as their conversation keeps flowing, except for one of the men, who’s holding a pot, pouring its liquid into a small cup. He stares at you with a smug grin on his lips and you return his gaze accidentally. Your eyes widen at the sight of the man, quickly turning towards the soft grass in front of you. You grab the shoulder strap of your leather satchel and hurry near the building where Achilles stands, speaking with another man.

Achilles notices you approaching and turns to you with a gentle smile on his features, “Y/N, you have arrived! How was the trip here?” He places a hand on your shoulder, “Your brother must have left you in good hands, no?” His dark skin glistens in the sun, contrasting with the crème outfit he wears. His short hair is brown as well as the moustache above his lips. You’re surprised he remembers your name, as you must have spoken to him about two times in his brief visit to Lisbon. Although Luís has to have informed him of your abilities and well, of _you_ , so you’re somewhat curious as to how much Achilles knows about you.

“Yes, the trip was pleasant. Thank you for having me, Achilles.” You shake your head gratefully. Even though you weren’t happy to come, you still have to be thankful at the man. He will give you a home and train you even deeper into the Creed’s ways. You are lucky to have Achilles Davenport train you, even if it doesn’t feel like it.

“Of course.” His eyes are sympathetic and you see them studying your face before looking back at the other man, “Pardon me Adéwalé. This is Y/N, Francisco Távora’s daughter.” Out of habit and respect, you bow slightly. You’d heard the marquis speak of Adéwalé and his great deeds within the Brotherhood, however you had never met the assassin. His green eyes look at you, standing out from his dark skin, under each one of them three line-shaped scars. It makes you wonder how the man still lives.

“Ah, yes. I recall Francisco. He was of great help to the rebellion in Port-au-Prince.” Adéwalé smiles at you, his deep voice cutting through, “Please, send him my regards.” You nod, the thought of the marquis causing mayhem in his youth bringing a grin to your lips.

“My wife Abigail is inside, she will show you around. After that I suggest you introduce yourself to your fellow brothers and sisters. Adéwalé and I have some matters to discuss.”

As Achilles prepares to leave with Adéwale, you intervene, reminded of the group you saw earlier and of how distinctive they looked from the other assassins roaming around, “Is there anyone in particular I should look for?”

Achilles looks back at you, glancing to the forest you just came from, “As a matter of fact, yes. Liam, Hope and Kesegowaase. They should be in the training area over there.”

With no other word, you head for the building and are greeted by Abigal holding 5 year old Connor. She guides you through the house where you receive several nods and waves from some assassins. After you reach your room, you lay your belongings down and head back outside, ready to meet your peers.

You walk through the woods carefully, so you don’t interrupt any of the trainings happening simultaneously around you. The bonfire from earlier is there, still lit as you pass by it, however there’s no one around it anymore. Your eyes scan your surroundings calmly, just the way Luís thought you. Every sign of movement, every branch, leaf and pine is analyzed by your gaze. You keep heading into the forest, leaving the muffled sound of the trainings behind. Your focus has been driven away from finding the assassins, right now you’re just taking in the beauty of this place. The sun peeks through the branches of the threes that wiggle slightly, due to the wind. There are a few spots of snow left across the soft grass, but most of it is being melted away by the spring temperatures. You walk towards a small cluster of snow and kneel close to it. The snow shines under the sun, its glistening crystals capturing your fascinated gaze.

Lisbon’s winter temperatures are nowhere low enough for it to be able to snow, so this is new to you. Succumbing to inner childish impulses, you reach for the agglomerate and the tip of your fingers brushes against its cold surface, sending a shiver up your arm till the back of your neck. A chuckle escapes your mouth, _Wait until José hears about this._

The rustling of snow is heard and a small rabbit pops from a gap between the rocks a couple of meters in your front. Your eyes widen and you keep quiet and still, admiring the elegance of the creature for a few seconds, its little nose twitching while its head turns in various directions, the smooth grey fur on its back decorated by minuscule drops of water. The animal moves a couple steps forward until it swiftly looks your way and runs off.

As you’re about to posture up, you feel warmth seeping through your jacket. Your eyes look to your left and there’s someone behind you, his hand on your shoulder.

You quickly get to your feet and punch the man, throwing him back. Unsheathing your right hidden blade, you pin him against a nearby tree. Your blade is against his neck, hand curled into a fist while the other is on his chest pushing him back. You have your body leaning against his, so that he doesn’t try to escape, even if he does not appear to be resisting, leaving your faces inches apart.

He has his hand on his nose, although his heavy breathing slips through his fingers, wiggling the strand of hair falling across your face. You look into his eyes and he returns your gaze, removing his hand to reveal a bloodied nose and that smug, recognizable grin.

“Jesus, lass. No need for violence.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo  
> Thank you for the kudos, and specially the feedback in the comments, you guys rock  
> Just wanted to comment on the fact that the relationship between the king and Teresa ACTUALLY happened irl. Yes, Luís Távora's wife was also the king's favorite mistress smh  
> (Also, when I mention a Connor, I mean Connor Davenport, Achilles' son who he later named Ratonhnhaké:ton after. I know this may be pretty obvious for you and me, but I have seen people mixing them up, so I just wanted to make it as clear as it can be.)  
> Anyways, here is the third chapter. I hope you enjoy it!


	4. Chapter 4

_Rockport, Massachusetts_

_March, 1752_

_You quickly get to your feet and punch the man, throwing him back. Unsheathing your right hidden blade, you pin him against a nearby tree. Your blade is against his neck, hand curled into a fist while the other is on his chest pushing him back. (…)_

_You look into his eyes and he returns your gaze, removing his hand to reveal a bloodied nose and that smug, recognizable grin, “Jesus, lass. No need for violence.”_

It takes you a moment to realize what you’ve just done.

  _This is not  one of Lisbon’s dark alleys. You’re in Aquilles’ Homestead, there’s no need for all of this! What a pleasant way to get acquainted Y/N._

The man’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts, “Acting out of habit, I suppose?”

The feel of your cheeks heating up and your stomach churn at the embarrassment makes you want to crawl into a hole and never emerge again, but his hazel eyes piercing into yours seem to lock you in place.

“I apologize.” you mutter, before your eyes begin to drift across the rest of his features: from his forehead, partially covered by his brown hair, to his now bruised nose. His warm breathing against your cold skin causes a shiver to run down your neck as your gaze darts to his jawline, stubble covering it lightly. There’s a drop of blood running from his nose onto his cupid bow, leaving the mustache of his goatee stained red. Finally, your eyes reach his smooth lips and linger there, as if captured in some sort of trance.

Only when you feel him shift beneath your weight, you realize that you are still pressuring him against the tree, your hidden blade dangerously close to his neck. You swiftly sheath your blade and step back, nervously tucking some loose strands of hair behind your ears. Less than an hour in your new _home_ and you’ve already managed to hurt someone. _Great._

The man runs the back of his hand under his nose, wincing slightly as his fingers touch the damaged skin. He walks away from the tree and heads towards a nearby boulder while attempting to stop the bleeding with the fabric of his jacket. He sits down and leans on his hands, tilting his head back and closing his eyes as silence settles between you both.

A few seconds go by where the rustling of leaves and the distant voices is the only sound heard in the forest; until you interrupt it, “I… I’m sorry, I did not mean to-“

He waves a hand in the air and looks back at you, “It’s alright.” A grin starts to form on his lips once again as he nods in your direction, “I deserve it for sneaking up on a fellow _assassin_. I should have expected it.”

You can’t help but return the smile when you notice the deep irish accent in his voice. It is so foreign to you, yet it brings a familiar warmth to your heart.

He curses under his breath and a frown returns to your face as you notice the sleeve of the white shirt he is holding up against his nose turning red.

“Please, may I?” You ask, stepping forward slightly. He nods and postures up while you carefully sit at his side.

You pull a handkerchief from the pocket of your jacket and hold it in your hands for a moment. Mariana embroidered it for you. You remember watching Cláudia teach her how to stitch the small and detailed flowers on its edges. A melancholic smile crosses your features at the memory. _God I miss them so much._

You shake your head and look up at the man again. The sun hits one side of his face, carving a perfect profile out of the other, while the wind wiggles the hair on his forehead. Your gaze lingers on him, observing every detail.

He looks back at you and you almost jump, tearing your gaze away nervously. You clutch the handkerchief in one hand and reach for his nose, holding his chin up with the other.

You pat the fresh blood above his lip, transferring it to the white handkerchief in your hand.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” He asks, with a curious, yet joyful expression on his features.

Your gaze previously focused on the patting of your hand, meets his for a few seconds before returning to his bruise. The corner of your mouth twitches up a little, your voice coming out confident and light-hearted, “What makes you think so?”

A small chuckle escapes his mouth. “You’re…” He waits a couple seconds before continuing, choosing his words, “…different. Not like any of the other women I’ve seen here before.”

You snort, feeling your cheeks grow warmer. A smile forms in your mouth as you raise your eyes to him.

The always present grin on his lips accentuates when he catches a hold of your slight embarrassment. His deep hazel eyes scan your face for a few seconds, tracing your perfectly shaped nose down to your gracious lips. They run over the few strands of hair draping over your smooth jaw, landing on your shimmery (e/c) eyes.

He places a hand over yours and presses the handkerchief down on his skin, something you involuntarily had stopped doing when captured by his gaze. His mouth parts as he’s about to speak, but a feminine voice coming from the woods interrupts him.

“Ah, I see you’ve met Shay!”

You’re startled, standing up hastily. He – Shay, his name is – remains seated with your stained handkerchief in hand, shaking his head slightly. Your heart is pounding and the woman must have noticed the panic in your face as she releases a soft chuckle, approaching the two of you.

“Don’t worry girl, Achilles said we would be expecting you. I’m Hope, and that over there-” She briefly glances at him, a look of somewhere between mockery and disappointment in her eyes, “-is Shay.”

Hope is a beautiful woman, in fact, she reminds you of your older sister, Leonor. She’s tall and wears very distinctive assassin robes. Her pale skin is slightly rosy in the cheeks, strands of her brunette hair draping over them, the rest on her back.

She smiles at you gently, before turning her attention to Shay, who’s still sitting down, “Whom is currently still in training, are you not, Shay?” She pauses, narrowing her eyes, “What happened to your nose?”

He ignores her questions and stands up, swiping your handkerchief under his nose one last time before storing it on his pocket. Smirking, he advances towards the both of you, “Come on Hope! I was introducing myself to-”

“Y/N.” You interrupt, realizing you hadn’t told your name to either of them. “Y/N Távora.”

Shay widens his eyes at you, your name catching his attention, “Távora? You mean as the Lisbon’s Távoras?”

You nod, but before Shay can ask another one of the thousand questions swirling in his head, Hope cuts in, staring into his eyes, “Shay, leave her be.” She says blithely as one of her hands comes to rest on your shoulder, the other turning him around and swiftly pushing him forward, “Go on. Achilles called for you.”

Shay abides, flashing you a toothy smile over his shoulder as he hurries towards the Homestead. Your attention is returned to Hope, when you feel the slight squeeze of your shoulder.

“Come, I’ll introduce you to the others.”

You both head through the woods, towards the training area as Hope explains to you how everything functions in the Homestead, and you listen in silence, nodding your head from time to time so she knows you’re following.

From what she says, as the newest recruit, your days will be mostly occupied with training exercises. _Odd_ , you think to yourself. You’ve been trained by Luís for the past 10 years of your life, surely you’re more than able to go out on missions, or at least just contracts. You decide not to question her about it though; a better time will come for it.

She also mentions how you’ll have to care for yourself: wash your own clothing, clean your own weapons, tidy your own quarters. It is something that you’re not quite used to. You have _servants_ back in Lisbon. People to help you get ready, to clean after you, or do/get whatever you ought to need. They are treated respectfully and fairly, of course, the marquis always making sure of that. Although you were slightly spoiled on that matter, you know you’ll manage; you had to clean up your (and José’s) messes more than a couple of times.

Hope’s voice seizes when the both of you reach the other two men you had seen before, them turning around to face you.

“Liam, Kesegowaase.” She places a hand on each of your shoulders, “This is Y/N, our newest recruit from Portugal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sup guys!  
> First of all I am SO SO sorry about the delay on this chapter, but I have had a shit-ton (pardon my French) of stuff to do lately. I’m in the last year of high school on an art-oriented school and in June I have to present my final project, so I can proceed to uni. We’re in February yeah I know, thing is, besides that project (which consists of a 2d animation short), I have more subjects I have to study for (including Art History, and another subject which is pretty much the history of cinema) so yeah yay school! That’s why I literally have no time for anything. Just thinking about it though, ugh.  
> Moving onnnn, I already have a very defined idea where I want to go with this fic, like the narrative and certain chapters, or I guess situations/scenes are already played out in my head how I freaking want them. It’s in the moments in-between that I get a little bit stuck on and this chapter was one of them, so please bear with me guys, just ples.  
> So thanks for reading my idle vent, and I hope you liked the chapter. See ya!
> 
> PS: If you celebrate Carnival, I hope you have a good one! I certainly had a blast at my school’s parade lmao!


	5. Chapter 5

_Rockport, Massachusetts_

_April, 1752_

“I am waiting.”

Kesegowaase’s calm voice echoes through the forest, as your boots land on a branch, your hand gripping the rough texture of the tree. Your breathing is unstable, mostly coming in and out through your mouth, causing a raspy sensation to start sprouting in your throat. Despite the cold temperature in the air, a drop of sweat is dripping down your back, the loose strands of hair from your bun clinging onto the skin of your neck. You swallow hard as your eyes glance at the ground several meters below you.

_I hate heights._

You step forward, crouching down, one foot in front of the other as your hand grips the thin branch, the other coming up to brush the hair away from your face. With narrowed eyes, you look for Kesegowaase’s bulky figure amongst the leafage of the forest. You search the trees, the rocks, even the bushes but spot nothing.

Tired, annoyed and cold, you straighten up again and turn around, ready to descend the tree and return to your _beloved,_ sturdy ground, but before you can, a whistle catches your attention. You look over your shoulder to see Kesegowaase move down from the crown of a tree in the distance, leaping over a branch and continuing on his path.

You sigh and take a few steps back, so you gain enough momentum to jump to the next tree. Once your feet land, you resume the running you were doing before. Jumping from branch to branch, from tree to tree, you keep your arms spread open so your fingers run over whatever scarce surface is around, as a safety measure.

The native man is on a branch a few trees ahead of you, descending to the ground in one swift jump. You move to the lower branches of the trees as you approach his location, at last jumping down close to him with a grunt, out of breath, your feet hurting from the impact.

“Your movement has improved, but we need to work on your senses.” His voice is calm and monotone as always, even after the hours of running and jumping you both just endured.

You chuckle through your erratic breathing, “How do you do that? Seriously, you-” The back of your hand swipes across your forehead, lingering there in attempt to block the sun hitting your eyes, “-do not look human.”

He dismisses your wit, his head shaking lightly, “We will train again tomorrow. Hope is expecting you now.”

Kesegowaase turns and starts making his way to the Homestead, leaving your small, panting self behind. You wait a few minutes until your breathing is somewhat steady and leave towards Hope’s preferred training ground.

There are log fences outlining part of the perimeter of the area, its center made of brown and muddy dirt, rather than the green grass covering the rest of the landscape. The couple of dummies close by are poked, specks of hay sticking out of the holes. The trees are less abundant here, closer to the Homestead, however there are a few of them scattered nearby.

Hope is sitting on the fence, speaking with whom you distinguish by being Shay. A few other assassins and bystanders are around, as if waiting for the show to begin.

“You requested my presence?” You say when you approach them, your gaze alternating between Hope’s serene features and that grin Shay always manages to save for you.

“I did.” Hope slides from the fence, straightening her clothes, “Shay needs your hum…” She looks up and gestures with her hand, searching for an adequate word, “…assistance?”

You furrow your brows and look at Shay, who on the other hand, has his eyebrows teasingly raised.

As you begin to question her, Hope interrupts you, clearly sensing your confusion, “We all know how good your hand to hand combat is Y/N, I just want you to demonstrate. Clearly Shay here needs practice.”

_Oh._

You’ve proven yourself alright in that parameter. It was one of the skills Hope had demanded to test as soon as your training started, and you had amazed everyone when you managed to end the first session with Liam on the ground, his chest below your knee. It’s one of the, if not _the_ most developed skill you have and besides being here little over a month now, you soon became an example to the other assassins. It’s definitely something you’re proud of, as was Luís and the marquis when they first saw the way your hidden blades swayed across the air with the swiftness of your movements.

_“You taught her well, son.” The marquis says, patting your brother’s shoulder, a smile on each of their features as they watch you dance silently on the courtyard, your blades reflecting a beam of light into the air._

_“I know.”_

You nod and step into the area, discarding your jacket in the process, standing in your shirt, a corset loosely tied around your torso. Shay does the same, leaving his chest covered only by the thin white shirt he wears under his other attire. It leaves little to imagination and you find your eyes roaming his muscular build.

“Ready?” The Irishman says from across the field, causing your eyes to dart back to his.

Before you can reply, he comes charging at you, a move you deflect by leisurely stepping aside, arms dangling at your side. You hear Hope snort behind you, and a smug grin starts to find its way onto your features.

Shay is in front of you once again, though now closer, “Let’s not get cocky now.”

You hum as you continue to walk around him, waiting for his next move. He soon attempts a couple of punches, which you dodge easily, until you grab a hold of his arm and swiftly twist it behind his back, causing a whimper to escape his lips. Your chest is pressed against his back, as you hold him in place with one hand, the other close to his neck, unsheathed blade sparkling in the sun.

You tilt your head slightly next to his ear, “Dead. And don’t hold back.”

You ease your grip, allowing Shay to slip out of it. Like a lion stalking its prey, you resume your stance, boots dragging the dirt as you circle him. He has an eyebrow cocked, quick breaths easing in and out through his mouth as his hand rubs the sore arm you just gave him.

“Your punches, Shay.” You clarify, noticing his confusion, “You are pulling your punches.”

He stares at you with surprise-filled eyes as he swallows hard, nodding right after. The only sound present in the air is the rustling of the trees and the occasional shifting coming from the people watching, which makes you uncomfortable considering the _orchestra_ this place usually is.

Is _Shay Cormac_ at a loss for words because of _you?_

The corner of your mouth twitches _, It has been more than 3 minutes without one of his cheeky remarks! I truly must’ve done something to h-_

You’re pulled (quite literally) out of your thoughts, a grunt leaving your mouth as your back collides with a nearby tree, Shay’s body clashing on top of yours.

“Fuck, Shay!” You whimper, feeling the tree’s distinctive, chapped texture digging into your back as he pins you against it. His forearm is pressed against your chest, his other hand placed on the tree next to your head, an awfully similar stance as to when you first met each other.

He clearly saw his window of opportunity to overpower you when you stood back there for way too long, way too distracted over the effect you have on him. Which is becoming more and more apparent now, judging by the way his eyes darkened at the sound of your whimpering voice. As they roam your features, amusement and pleasure reflect upon them, and perhaps even… _lust_?

_No, stop it._

Sure, you and Shay have grown close, but not in that way; you think. He was one of the first people you met when you got here, and he has stuck by your side, sort of like a companion. He’s an attractive man, no doubting that, however remarks of that kind were always said as jokes.

_“I could do this all day, lass.” Shay chuckles, as he grips an edge of the small mountain you’re both climbing._

_“No… I believe you’d tire out eventually.” You say cheekily, glancing at the grinning Irishman right below you._

_“Hmm, I don’t know… The view might be enough to keep me going for hours.”_

_You wiggle your butt on purpose as you push yourself over the edge of the mountain, lying down with your legs dangling off the edge, “Is that so?”_

_Shay flops next to you after a few seconds, turning his head to meet your eyes with a wink as a smile creeps onto both of your features._

Alright. Perhaps the remarks weren’t so innocent after all. You’re starting to doubt yourself at this point.

You’re brought back into the present when you hear Shay’s low voice, “I thought you said no holding back?”

You scoff at his remark and attempt to push yourself from the tree, but he just pushes you back against it, his head tilted and a smirk.

“Again!” Hope says with a raised voice. Shay releases you and makes his way back to the center of the area. You follow behind, as he positions himself in front of you, determined to prove his worth.

You block several of his punches with your forearms, each of the attacks different as he tries to follow the tips Hope keeps shouting. Shay throws a few more punches until you push his arms to the side swiftly and duck, moving behind him. Your outstretched leg causes him to lose his balance, but as he topples to the front you grab a fistful of his shirt and turn him so he falls on his back. Descending with him, you land with each of your knees on each side of his waist, locking his arms in place. A huffed laugh escapes your mouth at the panicked expression on his features as you unsheathe one of the hidden blades and rest your wrist on his chest. You lean down, smirk widening upon hearing the claps and laughs from the people watching. A strand of hair that escaped your ponytail settles on Shay’s cheek as you whisper, “I would have killed you again.”

A booming laugh and the clap of hands follow your words as someone nears the two of you, “Oh this is incredible!” As the crowd previously gathered nearby disperses, Liam approaches the fence, placing his elbows on top of it and a foot on the lower beam, “As much as I’m enjoying the show, Shay and I must be on our way.” Liam turns away, a smile still on his lips, “Hurry mate, we should already be at sea.”

The couple seconds your gaze moves to Liam, mouth opening to voice a cheeky remark, are enough so Shay gives a quick pull on your body and flips you over so he’s on top. The words die on your throat with the movement, wrists now pinned to the ground by his hands. Your boot cladded feet are on the ground, legs bent at the knee. Shay’s torso is leaning over your body, his hips dangerously close to yours, “You _would_ have killed me, lass.” Shay leans down, mimicking your pose just a few seconds ago. He smirks, “I’m glad we’re on the same side.” Your gaze keeps locked on his daringly, lips slightly pursed as he releases your wrists. The smile on his lips falters slightly, “I have to go, Y/N.”

Shay begins to posture up, but you pull him down by his shirt again, retracting your hand once you realize what you did. A blush spreads across your features, “W-When will you return?”

He breathes out a laugh, the slight shock from your action dissipating from his features. He gets to his feet and offers you a hand, pulling you up after you take it, “Soon, lass. We’ll be at sea a couple months at most.”

Your heart clenches a bit. It always does when any of the assassin’s you’ve met since you arrived go on missions, but with Shay is different. You two have grown rather close, best mates if you will. Or at least that’s what you tell yourself every time you look at him and get butterflies on your belly. You force your lips onto a smile, nodding as you dust the dirt of your clothes, “I wish you luck, then.”

He suddenly pulls you into a comforting hug, as if he knows what’s going through your mind. You can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips when your arms wrap around his middle, and his enclose you. Your voice is muffled against his chest, hold tightening a fraction, “Be careful, Shay.”

“Don’t worry, lass. I’ll be alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this chapter half written since 7 months ago, but only had the time and inspiration to finish it now. I am so so sorry. I still want to get through this story, gonna try to do it now that I have the holidays. Thank you for the kudos and lovely comments <3


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